


The One

by Holdmeforransom31



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 12:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15796746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdmeforransom31/pseuds/Holdmeforransom31
Summary: When was the last time Bill Clinton really looked at the one he loves?





	The One

I lie down on my bed, a book on my hands, as I hear the water from the shower running. A thought crosses my mind.

When was the last time I really saw the one I love?

My answer shames me: I don't remember.

I lay the book on the nightstand and I shift so I am sitting on the edge of our bed.

When she gets out of the bathroom and starts to enter the bedroom, completely naked, probably to retrieve the nightgown she’d forgotten on the bed, I make my move.

"Stop in the doorway. Lean on one jamb."

Blue eyes study me for a moment. Pale pink lips quirk into a slightly amused smile as she casually settles herself and waits for my next move. "Like this?"

I bring up my hands and act like I am framing a picture. I start at her feet and slowly 'scan' until I reach her face.

I smile. "Like that. I couldn't remember the last time I really looked at you."

"Ah." It is a breath filled with promises. She shifts her body slightly. It isn't much of a movement but it's enough to change her attitude from relaxed casualness to calm expectation with a hint of eroticism.

"Like what you see?"

Her question is playful but I can feel her words masking an underlying insecurity. One she tries to conceal but that has been eating her alive for years. I can’t pinpoint when it started, maybe when she became a woman, like many other girls.

What I’m certain about is that, unlike many other girls, I, the husband who promised to cherish and love her, fed those insecurities. That is something I have to live with, but I am determined to win this battle against the hungry self-loathing monster inside of her. To make her feel as special as I see her.

I lower my hands so I am looking at her feet again. In passing, I note that her skin glows from being freshly scrubbed. "I'll tell you what I see before I answer that question."

"Your toes aren't perfect. The toenails are a little ragged. They need another coat of nail polish. The edges of your little feet are slightly calloused. They are firmly planted on the ground. I see signs that you walk barefoot a lot. The skin is a little dry even though you are freshly bathed. From experience, I know the dry look will pass quickly"

I move my view upwards slightly. "Not youthfully lithe. Older yet vivacious. I see the unmistakable sings of age but they don’t make me avert my gaze. I embrace them. They make you more beautiful in my eyes. You’ve been tested and tried but there is still a lot of gas in the tank. So energetic and restless I can’t keep up with you sometimes.”

She wants to say something, to reassure me, but we both know it’s the truth. I keep talking. “The muscles in your right leg are mostly relaxed. The main muscle in your lower left leg is well defined. It's obvious you are using it to support most of your weight as you lean against the jamb.I can see some dampness left from your bath. Here and there the moisture is gathering into larger droplets that seem to hang before they finally flow down your legs, passing over your little bluish veins and over what some call your ‘cankles.’ I love them, how strong they are, especially over my shoulders or around my waist. I know you always wish you had top model legs but I can’t tell you enough how much I like them. They are part of what makes you my Hillary."

I frame her hips and then briefly glance into her eyes before looking back. Her trimmed pubic triangle is centered in my vision. I remember what my fingers tell me when I've caressed her crotch.

"Amazing. Considering how fine your pubic hair feels, it looks coarse. Still mostly caramel in color. The curtains don’t match the drapes.” I’m rewarded with her beautiful laugh. “Still moist. I won't try to guess if that moisture is from your bath or from within. From the shifts in skin tones, I can tell your pubes push outwards slightly. Your pubic hair is sparse enough that I can see your labia. Those are darker than your skin but not the same color they get when you are aroused. In your current position one hip is slightly higher than the other. The width below your waist hints at what's on the other side. Your supple bottom you know I love to squeeze. You aren't skinny. Some will call you fat but I prefer a little more to love. You’re just chubbier than most women these days. Closer to Rubenesque. More than enough padding over your bones, your attributes stand out. I believe it’s called thick these days and I absolutely love it.”

I break off and look directly at her eyes again. "What can I say? You were built to be held close and enjoyed. Plenty to cuddle up to. Very fuckable. Very tasty too."

She blushes and I grin back. I see more moisture glistening on her pubic hair.

"Your stomach isn't as flat and taut as it was when we first met. Mature. Despite your weight fluctuations you are still the proud owner of a tiny waist in comparison to the rest of your body. Your breasts are larger, fuller. They sag slightly but the nipples are erect. Your areolae are dark pink against your skin. Like the rest of you, they simply show that you are older now. More experienced. You carry them with pride and they are delightful to look at, amongst many other things I love doing to them."

She closes her eyes for a second, blush rising to her apple cheeks. I know what that means and I’d be lying if I said I’m not feeling it too.

"Your arms are short, like all of you. A little chubby too, but your forearms are slim and elegant crossed under your breasts. You have a fascination with my hands, but baby, I love yours too. They look like baby hands. So little and delicate, the skin is so soft. Your fingers are short and stubby, but I know how skilled they are.”

"Your whole posture is relaxed. Casual. A little amused. Tolerant of my sudden whim and enjoying my scrutiny. The earlier blush has mostly vanished but it left your skin with a rosy glow."

I lower my hands and take the time to look her over again. "Honesty compels me to say I've seen women who are more beautiful. You aren't plain but you aren't a model, either." I shrug slightly, her eyes rest at half mast, she crosses her arms a little closer to her body, bracing herself for what’s to come.

She knows me well, she knows how much I love her, but I know she’s preparing for me to hurt her, to take aim at her battled self-esteem, like many others have. She’s probably thinking I’m right, and that she doesn’t deserve my compliments, my attention, my love. That is how powerful the monster that lives inside her is. Just a few negative words and it springs to life. But she won’t let anybody see.

I pause as I make sure of my next words. "You're what I love. A woman who is complete. It's not how you look so much as it is how you carry what you have. Magnetic. Compelling."

"You have something that calls to me. I've never been able to put it in words. I can’t point at another woman and say 'she has it, too'. That still doesn't convey the overall impact."

I frame her face with my hands. Instead of commenting, I lower my hands ands and then walk over to kiss her tenderly. I pull back slightly. She trembles slightly, I know she wants to cry. She always gets emotional when I open my heart and for the time being, I know she believes me.

"How do I capture your face in words? Full lips. Blue eyes. Ears on either side. A rather ordinary nose but not ugly, short and slightly upturned. Some wrinkles here and there. Full cheekbones. A wide mouth that's smiling slightly. Brilliant blonde hair that flows down your cheeks and trails off just above your shoulders.”

"Put it together and the overall look is pretty, but not spectacular."

"When I look closer though... I see your face through eyes that remember my love for you. I remember your eyes sparkling at some joke. I remember your face slightly tilted to one side as you ponder some comment I've made. I remember lips pursed in thought. I remember lips distended as you nurse my member. I remember cheeks that moved in and out as you focus on bringing me pleasure."

"I remember eyes gone distant as you let yourself be overwhelmed by the pleasure I'd given you."

"I remember hair that was flailing wildly as your head went from side to side as you orgasm.”

"Tears of happiness. Of pain."

I wrap her in a hug and she softly cries on my shoulder. I know I’m the only one who can turn her into this. The only one she trusts enough to stop being strong at all costs, to be perfect and just be Hillary. For me she is perfect.

"You once confessed to me that one of the reasons you never gave up on us is that I always saw you and liked you. The real you, even when you were not, and I quote, ‘aesthetically pleasing’. The truth is that I don’t care how much make up you wear, how thick your glasses are. When I look into your eyes I see my lover, my wife. I see the woman I love. Always beautiful to me. The One.”

"So yes, I like what I see. But what I like the most is how you make me feel"

We kiss and then I pull away. I wipe her tears with my thumb. Hands intertwined, we head for bed.

The rest of the night we spend it talking without words. Feeling.


End file.
